


5 Times Negan Ordered The Same Damn Thing + 1 Time He Ordered Something Different

by Hatterized



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Coffee Shop Owner Rick, Developing Relationship, First Dates, Fluff, Gratuitous use of Walt Whitman, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Smut, flirting through poetry, pretty sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-20 00:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10651227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hatterized/pseuds/Hatterized
Summary: Coffee Shop AU- Negan is one year removed from the loss of his wife, Lucille, when he decides to forego his usual Starbucks to give a local coffee joint a try. It's there that he meets Rick Grimes, the hot shop-owner-slash-barista.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing was seriously lacking in a Coffee Shop AU, and in 5+1s, so I combined the two.

“Large coffee, shot of caramel.” Negan says to the barista. The barista that looks way too fucking old to still be working as a barista. Maybe that’s part of the charm of the place, he thinks to himself. No dead-in-the eyes college students looking like they’re terrified of being reamed out for not remembering to add extra whipped cream to a frappe or swap out almond milk for soy milk or some shit, like at the Starbucks he usually frequents.

Instead, Negan gets a man that only looks a handful of years younger than himself, and his pale blue eyes are decidedly not as weary-looking as the average minimum-wage coffee slinger. For a moment, Negan is momentarily distracted by the man taking his order. He’s…well, he’s _pretty_. There’s no other way to put it. A vision in a worn blue button up and black barista’s apron with the store’s name- _Judith’s Java_ \- emblazoned onto it. The silver name plate on his chest reads _Rick Grimes,_ and then, underneath that: _Store Owner_.

Ah. That would explain why a man over forty was catering to a host of hipsters writing their screenplays.

“Sir.” Rick Grimes says.

Negan startles. “Fuck. Sorry. What was that?”

Rick doesn’t seem taken aback by the swearing. “I said, your total is four sixty-nine.”

Normally, that would have earned some crass remark from Negan. Especially in tandem with how hot this guy is.

But Negan’s just not feeling it today. In fact, he feels pretty fucking guilty just for his brief moment of lust for the barista. So he simply paws through the pockets of his leather jacket until he pulls out his wallet and slides a five over to the man behind the counter. He doesn’t watch as Rick rings him up, is only able to manage a distracted nod when Rick drops a few coins into his palm and says, “Here’s your change, your order will be at the counter to your left.”

He half-watches as Rick brews his coffee. The shop is small, but cozy. It’s all brick and dark wood, with scattered seating that’s half tiny booths and half cream-colored armchairs wedged between short bookshelves that Negan is surprised to see contain actual books. There are potted plants on every table and in every corner, making it seem more outdoorsy than a coffee joint on the corner of a bustling suburban street should. The whole place invites onlookers to stay a while, grab a book, sip at your leisure, don’t gulp. It’s not particularly busy, but not many places are at two forty-five on a Wednesday afternoon. The only people here other than Negan, Rick, and the second barista are a couple who look to be in their mid-twenties. They’re sitting knee-to-knee in one of the tiny booths, sipping each other’s drinks and breaking off pieces of a scone that’s on a napkin in between them. Negan finds it difficult to look directly at them, like they’re radiating a harsh light.

Negan is served his coffee with a smile that actually looks genuine, but he can’t manage to return it. He just dips his head, mumbles out a “Thanks,” and busies himself with the table that contains all the cream and sugar fixings. He adds a small splash of whole milk and two packets of sugar and then settles into one of the armchairs, looking out the glass-paned wall across from him to watch the people pass by on the street.

A man in a suit yapping away on a cell phone walks by. A young, frazzled-looking blonde girl is walking four dogs at once, and Negan's a bit surprised a girl that small can handle those hounds. From here, it looks like if two of them decided to take off in opposite directions, she'd be up shit creek, but maybe she's stronger than she looks. Negan invents stories for her and the businessman as he sips his coffee- which is good, really good, way better than Starbucks. The man is your typical workaholic, probably droning on about stocks or committee meetings in some self-important voice. In Negan’s mind, one of the dogs the girl is walking is the businessman’s. The little yorkie. Something small and low-maintenance, and yet he still can’t be bothered to walk it himself.

It’s a boring story, he decides. He stops looking, stops watching them. Lucille was always better at this than he was, he thinks sadly. She would invent these wild tales, insist that she was just reading people as they were. _People are easy to read, babe_ , She always said, _Fucking open books, all of them. As long as you’re willing to look past the covers._

God, he misses her. He can’t believe it’s been a year. Still can’t believe that she’s gone at all. He’ll still catch himself some mornings, rolling over when he wakes up all sleep-bleary and disoriented, reaching for a warm body that’s no longer beside him.

And then there’s moments like right now, when he catches himself mooning over her like a lost puppy. He’s pathetic, he knows it. Lucille was the light of his whole damn world. He would have followed her to the ends of the earth, thinking the sun shone out of her ass. After she died, there were more than a couple of nights that he considered following her lead.

But he didn’t. Whether it was out of fear or guilt or some insane hope that maybe, somehow, someday, he’d find a way to be okay again, he wasn’t sure. Still, without Lucille, Negan’s whole world seems dark and bleary, all the light having left when she was snuffed out like a candle.

Which is why, when he dares to look over at the couple in the booth again, he feels blinded by them. They radiate the kind of head-over-heels love that he used to have, and he hates how seeing that kind of happiness in other people makes him want to throw his half-empty coffee cup at them.

But he can’t seem to look away, either.

They’re an attractive couple, to be sure. The woman is slim, brunette, with a short hair and a wry smile when she looks at the man across from her. The man is Asian, with wispy facial hair and a gooey puppy-love look in his eyes that’s meant only for the woman he’s with.

_Disgusting_ , Negan thinks to himself. He chugs the rest of his coffee angrily, as if it has personally offended him, and he doesn’t realize that he’s glaring daggers at the couple until the woman cranes her head to look him in the eye.

“Hey, you. You got a problem?”

_Shit._

Negan awkwardly tries to ignore her, idly busying himself with one of the books he’s pulled off the shelf.

_Grief and Trauma: How to Cope with the Loss of a Loved One._ The irony of his random book selection is enough to make Negan bark out a manic laugh, and now the whole shop is turning to look at the crazy guy in the corner pretending he can’t hear and cackling over a book about dead loved ones. The woman from the table approaches him, arms crossed and eyes flashing dangerously. Negan can’t stop laughing at the damn book.

“Somethin’ funny? Have anything to do with why you’ve been glarin’ at me and my husband for the last five minutes? You got somethin’ to say?” She’s all southern spitfire, no shits taken or given. And normally, Negan would be all over that like butter on bread, always quick to get into a battle of wits with a smart-mouthed stranger. But now, seeing the woman up close, all he can do is grip the edges of the book and bite the inside of his cheek to try to keep the manic laughter from turning into manic sobbing.

Because the woman is pregnant, probably just a handful of months along by the look of it, but there’s no mistaking it on her slim frame. Her wedding band reflects the sunlight streaming in from the windows and shines in Negan’s eyes, which is definitely the only reason they’re watering right now.

“I, uh. Shit. Fuck. I didn’t realize I was…I didn’t fucking mean to glare at you.”

The woman opens her mouth to speak again, but suddenly there are two figures behind her: Rick, and her husband. Rick looks Negan up and down warily.

“Are you…are you alright? Is there a problem?” Rick looks very much like he’s hoping there isn’t a problem, that Negan isn’t about to cause a scene by shouting at a pregnant woman in the middle of his sleepy coffeehouse. The woman’s husband has one hand on her shoulder, and is eyeing Negan with a similar distrusting look.

“Look, man, if you’ve got a problem with us, just spit it out.”

So Negan does. He spits it all out, much more than he intends to. More than he feels comfortable saying to the few close friends he has even during his worst drunken nights, much less these wary-looking strangers in the middle of the goddamned day.

“I-I…you just…you two looked so fucking happy, and it was making me want to blow fucking chunks because I-I can’t handle seeing that shit, not when that’s the kind of shit I don’t have anymore, and you’re fucking pregnant, and that’s great, that’s really fucking great, I n-never had kids, always fucking wanted to- but I’m really fucking happy for you two…” He’s not sure why he’s congratulating these two people on their unborn child, even less sure why he’s letting the coffee shop power couple and the hot barista-slash-owner see him clutch at the grief and loss book as tears start to leak from his eyes.

The three of them look rather alarmed, and the woman backs up a step, her hands up.

“Wow, okay. Can’t say I saw that comin’.” She and her husband shuffle awkwardly, and Negan’s about ready to commit himself to house arrest right after he makes a break for the door. If he can’t fucking see a happy couple splitting a scone without dissolving into tears, he’s not fit to be interacting with the general public.

It’s Rick that breaks the tension by taking a step toward Negan, his blue eyes wide. “You, uh. You need to talk about somethin’?”

Negan’s not ready for group therapy on the couch of this coffee shop. Hell, he’s not ready for therapy of any kind, though god knows he probably needs it. But Rick’s sinking down in the armchair beside him looking so prettily concerned over a complete stranger and not glaring at Negan like he’s ruined his whole day like Negan expected, and the couple is still regarding him with matching looks of confusion, and he can’t help the word-vomit that spills forth.

“My wife, she died. A year ago. A year ago today, actually. Fucking cancer. Fucking fuck cancer right up its hairy asshole and then right back down its fucking throat.” He blinks, notices the discomfort hanging in the air. “Sorry. Fuck. I say shit like that sometimes.” He sighs, scrubs a hand through his hair. “That’s a lie. I say shit like that all the fucking time.” He stares intently at the floor, tracing the pattern of the tile with his eyes. It’s only when he feels a warm hand covering his own where it’s resting on his knee that he looks up. Rick’s eyes are deep and sympathetic, and Negan feels like he’s being sucked right down into them like Rick is the ocean.

“Maggie, Glenn,” Rick says, looking up at the couple. “I’ve got this covered. Can you give us a few minutes?”

The woman- Maggie- nods. “Yeah. Of course.” She regards Negan with a silent, emphatic appraisal. “I’m…I’m sorry about your wife, um…?” She waits for him to fill in the gap with his name.

Negan nods, forces himself to meet her eyes. “Negan. It’s Negan. Sorry I was fucking glaring at you.”

She gives him a small smile. “It’s alright.” Her eyes flick over to Rick,then back to him. “You’re in good hands,” She assures him.

Maggie slides her fingers into the spaces between Glenn’s, and they give Negan and Rick one last nod before they take their leave, waving to the other barista working behind the counter as they head out the door.

And then it’s just Negan and the man whose hand is still laid over his. He stares down at it, marveling a little. It’s been a long time since someone’s touched him like this. He had it right after Lucille’s death, of course. Family and friends all laying heavy hands on his shoulders and patting his arms and telling him, “I’m so sorry” and “She’s in a better place”. After a while, that all got old, and Negan started shaking them off. Sure, some of them probably really meant it, but it all felt so insufficient and insincere that Negan had begun to balk at it.

But this…this doesn’t feel like that. There’s something about the way Rick’s hand feels over his, like it’s supposed to be there. Like there’s some sort of understanding between them that can only be expressed through this little touch.

Rick misinterprets Negan’s staring and silence as discomfort, and moves to pull his hand away. Quickly, almost reflexively, Negan catches it between his own, keeping him there. He hasn’t wanted anyone’s concern in so long, he’d forgotten how good it feels to be close to another person like this. Rick looks a little surprised, but relaxes, keeps his hand on Negan’s. After a moment, he speaks.

“What was her name? Your wife.”

“Lucille.” Negan smiles, sad and wistful. “Used to call her Lucy sometimes, just to piss her off. She fucking hated it. I’d get home from work, yell, ‘Lucy, I’m home!’, and she’d throw a book at me. She was always reading. Everything from the classics to crime dramas to cheesy romance paperbacks she picked up at the fucking grocery store.” The memory of it makes Negan ache a little. “I got hundreds of books around my house, all these fucking books, and I can’t bring myself to touch them. I always told her, ‘Darlin, you gotta get with the times, start reading e-books or some shit, you’re killin’ the damn rain forest with all these fucking paperbacks’. She never listened, insisted that there was somethin’ magic about the book itself.” He feels more tears trickling down cheeks, and swipes them away with the hand Rick isn't holding. Rick squeezes his other hand.

“She’s right, you know,” Rick says, “About the books. Nothin’ compares to holding one in your hands, turning the pages.”

“What about the damn rain forest though, Rick?” Negan cracks the tiniest smile.

“I guess I’ll have to answer to God for that one when I die. ‘Til then, I’m gonna enjoy my damn paperbacks.”

Negan laughs, surprising even himself. “Fair enough, Rick.” He looks over at the man beside him, studies his face. It’s a damn nice face, handsome, his short beard greying a bit in places. Not quite as grey as his own, though. Negan hadn’t realized how old he was getting until he let it grow out after Lucille died. He’d kept it clean-shaven for so long, it had been shocking when it grew out into something that could only be called salt-and pepper.

Rick Grimes sure does make grey look good, though.

“So, Rick,” Negan says, “You gonna tell me why you’re lettin’ me stay and cry in your cute little coffee shop instead of kicking my sorry ass out on the street for glaring at a pregnant lady?”

Rick chuckles, a soft, gruff sound. “Thought somethin’ didn’t look quite right with you. Got all quiet at the counter, starin’ off into space with your coffee. I’m not in the business of bootin’ people unless they deserve it.”

“You saying I didn’t deserve it?”

Rick shrugs. “If you’d actually gotten into it with Maggie, yeah, probably. But you didn’t. And…and I could tell somethin’ was wrong. I’d rather talk about that then have you leave more miserable then when you came.”

Negan manages a smile. “Goddamn, Rick. You’ve got some good customer service in this place. You make one damn fine cup of coffee, and now you’re over here holding my hand playing therapist. Makes me wonder why people still bother with the shitty chain places.”

Rick laughs and glances at the table, where Negan dropped the grief and loss book. He picks it up, offers it to Negan. “Here. C’mon, you could use it.”

“You want me to take your book?”

Rick nods, holding the book out to him more insistently. “Yeah. Like I said, you could use it. Got a condition, though.”

“Sure, yeah. Shoot.”

“An even trade. You take this one, you come back soon and bring me one of Lucille’s books. One of the ones you can’t bring yourself to read. Gotta keep my shelves stocked.”

Negan grins and accepts the book, nodding. “Yeah. Alright, I can fucking do that. Hope you like romance novels titled ‘The Virgin Princess’ and ‘The Cowboy Within’ and shit like that.”

Rick laughs. “Well, somebody will probably like them. We serve all kinds here.”

Negan looks down at the book in his hands. It’s a bit worn, like it’s been read before. There are a handful of dog-eared pages, and the cover is creased, the spine cracked in a few places like it laid open in certain spots for a while. “Was this yours, Rick?” He has to know. It suddenly feels like the most important thing in the world that he knows.

Rick looks at the book in Negan’s hands for a moment, is quiet like he’s debating whether or not to answer. “Yeah,” He says after a stretch of silence. “Yeah, it was mine.”

“Who did you…who’d you lose?” Negan knows it’s probably a rude question, an invasive one, but he can’t help himself. And it’s not like Rick hasn’t been sitting here with him, listening to Negan talk about his dead wife.

“I…I lost my wife. About four years ago. A complication when my daughter was born.” Rick’s voice is quiet, a little melancholy, but Negan can hear something else there, too: acceptance. The pain is no longer raw and messy inside of him, and Negan longs to feel that way, to get to that place where he can sound like that when he talks about Lucille.

“We’re just two peas in one sad motherfucking pod, aren’t we, Rick?” Negan isn’t quite sure what to say next, so he just steals Rick’s question from earlier. “What was your wife’s name? Was she the Judith in _Judith’s Java_?”

Rick shakes his head. “No. No, Judith’s my daughter. My wife’s name was Lori.”

_Lori and Lucille_ , Negan muses to himself. Two peas in one sad motherfucking pod, indeed. When he looks over at the other man again, Rick’s eyes are soft, with just a faint touch of sadness there. It’s still too much sadness. Negan wants it gone. So he reaches over, covers Rick’s hand with his own, mirroring the way Rick comforted him. Rick looks down, runs his thumb over Negan’s fingers. Negan tries to repress the shiver that runs through him.

“Read the book,” Rick says after a minute, standing up. He walks back behind the counter, and Negan follows him to the front of the store, book in hand. “Read the book, come back, bring me a sappy romance novel.”

Negan throws him a teasing grin. “You tryin’ to rope yourself a regular customer, Rick?”

Rick busies himself with cleaning one of the espresso machines. He doesn’t look up, but Negan can see the cocky smile playing on his lips anyway. “I’m pretty sure I already have one.”


	2. Chapter 2

Negan is back less than week later, having read _Grief and Trauma_ cover to cover. He’s not about to pretend that it solved all his problems, but he’d be lying if he said it hadn’t helped at least a tiny bit.

What helped even more, though, was the thought of seeing Rick again. He knows how it looks, how it sounds. He spends one hour with the guy, and already he’s looking forward to seeing him so much that by the time he’s actually getting around to driving over to Judith's Java, there’s a giddy little bounce in his step.

He spent a little more time picking out a book to give Rick than he probably should have. After he finished _Grief and Trauma,_ he spent a whole night going through Lucille’s books, trying to pick out the perfect one to give to Rick as a thank you. He'd ended up on his living room floor, piles of books stacked around him, sorted into categories by genre. Then there were other piles: the keep pile, full of books that Negan knew were Lucille's favorites, ones that he's determined to read one day. There were ones that sounded like they'd actually interest him, so he set those aside, too. And then there were the piles of possible gifts for Rick. He knew he’d said that he was going to give Rick a ridiculous romance novel, but once he realized the sheer volume of books he had in his house, he couldn’t stop himself. He loaded up a cardboard box with his selections: the works of Jane Austen, a book of collected poetry by Walt Whitman, a handful of crime dramas that he discovered took place in their native Atlanta, a series of horror novels set during a zombie apocalypse. He threw in a couple of the paperback romances that he thinks sound the funniest: _Me and My Werewolf Lover_ , _His Cowboy Heart_ , _The Prince and the Pregnant Virgin_. He hopes that, at the very least, Rick will get a laugh out of them.

At the top of the pile is the book he’d borrowed from Rick. He isn’t much one to re-read things, and for all he knew, maybe some other person would need it one day.

He pulls up in front of the coffee shop, the box of books wedged between his arm and ribs as he pushes the door open with his shoulder. The other barista- a long-haired kid that looks like he actually the proper age for the job- is behind the counter, and gives Negan a confused look when he drops the box on the counter in front of him in lieu of ordering.

“Uh. Can I take your order?” The kid asks, his eyes darting back and forth between Negan’s face and the box. He has the same light blue eyes as Rick, Negan realizes. He takes a look at the kid’s nametag: _Carl Grimes_. Well, that explains that.

“Sure, kid. Large coffee, shot of caramel. Your dad here today?”

Carl rings him up, hands him his change. “Yeah. He’s in the back. Why?” He shoots Negan a suspicious look. “How’d you know he was my dad? Do I know you?”

“You've got his eyes. Plus, nametag.” Negan points to the badge on Carl’s apron.

Carl looks a little weirded out, and Negan can't help but wonder if it's weird that he mentioned Rick's eyes. Probably. “Oh. Right. Uh. Do you…want me to go get him?”

“That’d be fucking fantastic, kid.”

Carl turns, makes his way through the swinging door behind the counter. Negan swears he hears the kid mutter something like “I have a damn name”, and it makes him chuckle.

Carl reappears a minute later, closely followed by Rick. He’s in grey today, his apron hanging loose and untied around his neck. Carl gets started on Negan’s coffee, and Rick leans over the counter, eyeing the box between them.

“You know, I only wanted the one book. Didn’t need all of this.” Rick teases. 

Negan shrugs and nudges the box towards him. “Some of your shelves were looking a little bare, Rick. Besides, I’m not gonna read ‘em. Might as well donate them to a good cause, right? I’ve got plenty more, trust me.”

Rick smiles, jerks his head over to the armchairs. “Wanna show me what you brought?”

Negan finds that he really, really does for some reason. He grabs the box, carries it over and drops it on one of the low tables while Rick settles into one of the chairs. Negan grabs his coffee from Carl, adds his cream and sugar, and takes a delicious sip before taking a seat next to Rick and watching him root through the box.

He pulls out the one Negan borrowed first, regarding it with a concerned look. “You didn’t want to read it?”

Negan shakes his head. “Already did.”

“And?” Rick asks expectantly.

“It was good. Pretty fuckin’ cheeseball in some parts, but I guess that comes with the territory. Helped a little, though.”

“You didn’t want to keep it for a while?”

“Nah. Don’t need it. I got it all up here,” Negan taps the side of his head. “Besides. Some other sorry fuck may come in here one day and start crying over his dead wife or sister or dog or something, and he’ll need it more than me.”

Rick seems to accept his answer, and continues to paw through the box. He pulls out the zombie novels, the crime dramas, the Jane Austens. When he gets to the romances, the titles make him laugh, and Negan feels something warm spread through his chest that he’s pretty sure has nothing to do with the hot coffee he’s sipping.

“ _The Prince and the Pregnant Virgin_. How does that work, a pregnant virgin? Immaculate conception?” He chuckles, thumbing through it with amusement in his eyes.

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous, Rick. Artificial Insemination. It says it all on the back.”

“On the back, huh?" Rick grins up at him, warm and bright and teasing, and Negan's head goes a little fuzzy. "You sure you didn’t read it?”

“May have skimmed a few pages.” Negan winks at him from over his coffee cup.

Rick pulls out the Walt Whitman collection and looks about as excited as one person could be over a donated book. He immediately starts flipping through the pages, taking the time to read some of the passages to himself, and Negan finds himself drawn to Rick’s face. He likes this one, and it fills Negan with a small sense of satisfaction that he picked out something that Rick is enjoying, even if it was entirely on accident.

“You a fan of poetry?” Negan asks, still staring.

“Some. I like Whitman. You don’t?” Rick sounds almost disappointed.

“Never read it, if I’m being honest,” Negan admits. Something creeps up on him, some rush of sentiment, and he finds himself saying the words before he can overthink them and stop himself from saying something so sappy. “Read me something. Your favorite.”

Rick’s eyes snap up to his, as if to gauge if Negan’s teasing him. There’s no joke in Negan’s eyes, though. He wants to know. He really, genuinely wants to know, even if he's not entirely sure why. A soft look crosses over Rick’s face, and the turns a few pages, running his finger down the lines until he settles on a section and begins to read aloud.

_Welcome is every organ and attribute of me,_

_and of any man hearty and clean,  
Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, _

_and none shall be less familiar than the rest._

_Loafe with me on the grass, loose the stop from your throat_

_I mind how once we lay such a transparent summer morning,_  
_How you settled your head athwart my hips and gently turn’d over upon me,_  
 _And parted the shirt from my bosom-bone,_

_and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart,  
And reach’d till you felt my beard, _

_and reach’d till you held my feet._

Rick reads the words with such heartfelt love, such tenderness, that Negan feels them settle inside him like flower seeds, feels them take root and shoot up, blooming between his ribs. The words are beautiful, stirring, even more so when coming from Rick’s lips. Unbidden, the image of Rick, laying atop him, fingers playing with the graying stubble of Negan’s beard floods his mind. He allows himself to enjoy it for a moment before forcing it away. This is only the second time he’s ever met the guy, for shit’s sake.

But Rick’s looking at him, his eyes pale and intense like storm clouds, grayer due to the color of his shirt, and Negan can’t stop the little flutter of leaves in his chest. Rick smiles warmly at him, closes the book, sets it on the table between them. “You liked it.” He says it with confidence, because he knows. He can see it written all over Negan’s face.

Negan hopes that’s the only thing he can see there.

“Yeah, Rick. It was…shit, it was good. You may make a poetry man outta me yet.”

Rick beams. “Did you want to take it back, then? Read it?”

Negan shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think so. It was a gift, it’s yours. Besides,” He gives Rick a wry smile, “If I took it with me, what reason would I have to come back? You got me on the hook here, I’ve gotta come back and fucking read the rest now. Don’t wanna lose a chance at a repeat customer now, do you?”

Like the last time, Rick’s answer is confident, cocky. If Negan didn’t know any better, he would almost say that it’s a bit flirtatious.

“I told you last time. I’ve already made a regular customer out of you.” He sweeps the books into his arms, starts shelving them seemingly at random in the gaps on the shelf.

Negan raises his eyebrows at the other man. “Oh yeah? That right, Rick? What makes you so damn confident?”

“A lot of things, Negan,” Rick answers, and it’s the first time he’s said Negan’s name. It sounds good in his mouth, Negan thinks. Really fucking good. Makes him want to make Rick say it again.

“Like what? Show your fucking work here, Rick. Enlighten me as to why I’d keep comin’ back here when there’s a perfectly good Starbucks a block from my apartment.”

“Well, for starters, you’ve already said that my coffee is better than that the chain places.” Rick replies, pushing himself to his feet when he's done shelving the last of the books. Negan can’t help but notice that the Whitman collection is still out on the table. An invitation for Negan to stay a while, start reading.

“That it, Rick? You think I’m going out of my way for a slightly superior cuppa joe?”

Rick slides back behind the counter, ties his apron more securely around his waist, and starts helping Carl out with a few orders. Negan stays, watches him, leaning against the serving counter. Rick doesn't seem remotely bothered by Negan hassling him, and Negan has to admit that it feels good for his personality to not be immediately met with annoyance or exasperation. He has a tendency to draw those kind of reactions out of people, but Rick just lets Negan's teasing roll off his back. 

“That, and I think you appreciate my customer service.” Rick says, smirking. His answer is so damn cheeky that Negan wants to reach out and snatch the bottle of whipped cream from his hands, spray him in the face.

He realizes, of course, that that’s completely inappropriate. He barely knows this guy. Why he’s thinking shit like that, like they know each other so well, is beyond him. Instead, he settles for leaning forward on the counter a bit, closer to Rick.

“Well, it’s some damn good service, if I do say so, Rick. You came right out when your kid told you I was here. You like me or something?”

Rick continues fiddling with the frappe machine in front of him. “Carl told me there was a guy here with a box askin’ for me. Maybe I thought it was a delivery.”

“Maybe,” Negan agrees, “But that doesn’t explain why you trotted right over and read me some poetry.”

“You asked me to read to you. Seems like maybe it’s _you_ that likes _me_. You’re the one _going out of your way_ , as you put it. And you brought me a whole box of books when I just wanted the one. Bit over the top, don’t you think, Negan?”

There it is again, Negan’s name on Rick’s lips. “I don’t like playing hard to get, Rick. Not the kind of guy I am. I just lay it all out there, see where things end up.”

“Is that so?” Rick hums.

“Yep. So I’ll just come out and say it, Rick. I’m coming here to see your pretty face fucking smiling away at me.” He surprises even himself with the words, but as soon as they're out of his mouth, he knows that they're true.

Rick’s eyes snap up to his and seem to search his face for the traces of a joke, like they had when Negan asked him to read Whitman. Just like then, there’s nothing to find there but open honesty. It’s been so long since Negan’s had any sort of interest in another person like this. Genuine interest, not short-term, they-look-like-a-good-time interest. Negan would be lying if he said it didn’t freak him out a little, but he’s never been one to hold back. Yeah, he realizes that telling your cute barista that you like him after meeting him twice may be coming on a bit strong, but that’s who Negan is. He comes on a bit strong, talks a bit too loud, swears a bit too much. He’s known that about himself for a long time, and has long since come to accept it. He doesn’t dial it back anymore when he first meets people, not like he did when he was younger. He knew he could reel people in with a put-on personality, but as soon as he let the sweet façade drop, they were gone in a flash, an that got old after a while.

Lucille was one of the first people that Negan introduced himself to as the actual Negan, every over-the-top, a-bit-too-much part of him. And she’d taken it, loved him for it, even when it wasn’t easy to. After her, after seeing what it was like to have someone really like him not just despite his personality, but because of it, he didn’t bother hiding anymore. Rick, for whatever reason, hasn't seemed put off by Negan so far. And, yeah, maybe that's a low bar, but it's a hell of a lot more than Negan's getting from most people.

And that’s why he’s looking at Rick like he is right now: open, honest, curious as to how the other man will react to being so brazenly hit on by a man he barely knows. Rick seems to take him in, cocking his head and looking him over, mulling over the fact that Negan really did mean it when he said that he likes him. That he called him pretty. Really, there’s no other way to interpret that. It’s hardly open ended, and Negan knows it.

He knows that he won’t be crushed if Rick turns him down. A little disappointed maybe, sure, but that’s to be expected. And he tries to make that clear in the easy way he’s regarding Rick right now: _No pressure, just be honest with me, I can fucking handle it._

And Rick, as intuitive as he is, gets it. After a pause, a smile works its way onto his face, his eyes crinkling just slightly at the corners. There’s the faintest hint of a pink flush working its way across his cheeks, and Negan finds it impossibly endearing.

“You don’t hold back, do you, Negan?” Rick asks.

“Not one fucking bit, Rick,” Negan says, his tongue sliding between his teeth. “So, am I your favorite customer, or what?”

Rick bites his lip, grins. Leans over the counter to get closer to Negan. “You might be. Not quite sure yet. Maybe you ought come back again and see me. Third time’s the charm, and all that.”

Negan wouldn’t have been crushed if Rick had laughed him off, but the fluttery twinge of excitement in his chest at Rick’s reciprocation is undeniable.

“Oh, I’ll be back, baby. I can fucking promise you that.”

Rick smiles, reaches out a finger to fiddle with the lapels of Negan’s jacket. “Good. Really good. I’ll, uh. I’ll see you soon, then?”

Maybe Negan’s being overly optimistic, but he thinks he can hear a note of hopefulness in Rick’s voice.

“Yeah, Rick. I’ll be seeing you again real fucking soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poetry excerpt is from Walt Whitman's Song Of Myself


	3. Chapter 3

“Real soon” turns out to be the very next day, because Negan has no self-control whatsoever.

He does it without thinking about it, too, without deciding to actually go see Rick. He just hops in his car after he gets off of work and starts driving, and when he ends up in front of Judith's Java instead of his apartment building, he doesn’t question it. He takes it as a sign that it’s meant to be and strolls right through the door.

Rick and Carl are behind the counter, and there are a handful of patrons at tables and in plush armchairs, swilling their coffee and tapping away on laptops and tablets and even one honest-to-God typewriter. There’s a pretty, dreadlocked woman in a chair by the bookshelves, engrossed in a paperback while she sips her latte. Negan briefly wonders what she’s reading, if it’s one of Lucille’s.

Rick is behind the counter, gazing at Negan with a mixture of awe and amusement when he approaches. “Wow. When you said soon, you meant it, didn’t you?” Rick teases, eyes sparkling.

“What can I say, Rick? I missed you.” He says it in a teasing tone to match Rick’s, but he finds that he really means the words. Judging by the little quirk Rick’s mouth does when he says it, Rick can _tell_ that he means it, too.

“Can’t get enough of me, can you?”

“Careful there, Rick. You’re gettin’ awfully cocky on me.” Negan retorts, leaning it a bit. He finds himself doing that a lot around Rick, leaning in close, as if Rick has his own gravitational pull that only affects Negan.

“Really?” Rick says, “I don’t think I am. I think I’m just callin’ 'em like I see 'em.”

Negan lets out a low whistle, because _goddamn, Rick Grimes_. “Well, don’t you just have me pegged right to the goddamn wall, baby. I’m impressed.”

Rick goes to open his mouth and retort, but he’s interrupted by Carl groaning from beside him.

“Can’t you two go flirt somewhere else? Somewhere I don’t have to hear it?”

Negan turns to Carl, eyebrows shooting up playfully. “Well, pardon me, kid. Excuse the shit outta my goddamn French, but do you have a problem with me hittin’ on your dear ol’ dad here?”

“Not really a _problem_ ,” Carl replies, looking unimpressed, “It’s just kinda gross.”

Negan laughs, head thrown back. “Gross! Would you listen to that, Rick, we’re _gross_. Tell me, kid, it got anything to do with the fact that I got a dick, or-”

“God! No! Jesus, I just don’t like hearing people hit _on my dad_. He’s my _dad_. Don’t really want to hear about your dick, either.” He adds, wrinkling his nose at Negan in disgust.

It's such a teenage reaction, Negan can't help but chuckle. “Fair enough, kid. Fair enough. Not saying that’s gonna stop me, though. Your dad’s quite the fucking catch." His gaze settles over Rick and he drops a wink in the other man's direction and then adds, "And about my dick, well-"

“Alright!” Rick yelps, jumping in before Negan can get too vulgar in the middle of his coffee shop. “I think he gets the point, Negan. What do you want?”

“What do I want, Rick? Well, for starters, I’d love a fucking raise, teacher’s salaries are the absolute shit. Past that, I think I’d like your fucking number.”

Rick looks like he’s trying not to roll his eyes. “To drink, Negan. What’s your order?”

“Oh. Right. I’ll have a large coffee, shot of caramel.” Rick marks up a cup for him, takes his money. Negan notices, not without some disappointment, that the only things written on his cup are his name and the letters _c-a-r-m_ to indicate the flavor shot.

“What, you’re not gonna do that cute thing all the flirty baristas do where they write their number on the coffee cup, Rick? I’m disappointed.”

Rick flashes him a quick grin. “You gotta earn it, Negan. _Impress me_.”

That’s a challenge if Negan’s ever heard one. And he is never one to back down from a challenge, especially when the prize is the phone number of the incredibly hot guy in front of him.

“Oh, I’ll impress you, baby. Just you wait for it. You're gonna be so damn impressed with me that you may forego the phone number thing altogether and just take me right here in one of the fucking booths.” Carl hastily presses Negan’s coffee into his hand, gives him a look that begs him to stop the flirting, and Negan laughs and drops one last wink in Rick’s direction before taking a seat near the bookshelf, across from the reading woman. Her eyes flick up to Negan as he approaches, and he sees that she’s reading one of the zombie horror novels. He chuckles to himself.

“Something funny?” She asks, regarding him warily. The look she’s giving him clearly says that she expects him to run his mouth, and he would resent the implication if it wasn’t so damn true.

“Nothin’, darlin’. Just the book you’re reading.”

She cuts through him with an irritated glare. “First things first, don’t ever call me _darlin’_ again. Second, you have a problem with the book I’m reading?”

Shit. Negan’s not sure how he always manages to do this with people, make such terrible first impressions that leave people defensive and on-guard, but it’s like he was born to do it. If casually pissing off total strangers was an Olympic sport, he’d have won the gold so many times over he’d need a whole damn shelf for the medals.

“No, no!” He scrambles to diffuse the tension radiating off the woman. “It’s not like that. It’s just…I donated that book yesterday. Walked in and saw you over here reading, and I thought to myself ‘I wonder if she’s reading one of the books I brought in’, and sure enough, here you fucking are.”

The woman stares at him from over the top of her book, gauging his honesty. He hold up his hands in surrender and tries for an innocent look.

“Look, I meant no fucking offence. Really, I swear I just thought it was funny that you were reading one of my books. Well, not _my_ books, they were my wife’s. Back when she was alive.” He throws that last line in there as a last-ditch effort at a white flag. Luckily, she seems to accept his surrender, lowers the book onto her lap.

“Sorry. About your wife. And about assuming.”

He gives her a winsome smile. “It’s alright. Sorry about the _darlin’_ thing. Whole lotta people get real pissed at me about that shit. Women find it degrading, men take it as some sort of implication that I’m interested in them, and they get _real_ defensive and pissy real fast. I don’t mean anything by it, but I’m guessing that I should probably drop it.”

“Yeah, probably.” She agrees. “You really say stuff like that to men? Do you have a death wish or something? You know this is the south, right?”

Negan shrugs. “Yeah. Not real fucking bright, huh? If I’m being honest, I use it as an asshole detector a lot. With men, I mean. If a guy flips his shit on me and starts yelling about how he’s _'not a fucking fag'_ or some other bullshit like that, I know I don’t want to fuck with trying to get to know him. Life’s too damn short to try to make best buddies with homophobes.”

“How many times has that happened?” the woman asks. 

“A fair few. Men get so fucking defensive if they think I’m hitting on them. Act like me flirting with them somehow implies something about them. Like they were giving off secret gay vibes or some shit and I smelled it like blood in the water.” He laughs. “Like I’d be interested in their balding, scrubby asses anyway.”

The woman chuckles. “What, that’s not your type?”

“Nah,” Negan replies, a mischievous look working its way across his face. “My type is more in the way of sweet-but-sassy blue eyed baristas these days.”

The woman raises her eyebrows and casts a furtive glance over Negan’s shoulder to where Rick is taking drink orders. “Is that so? You getting anywhere with that?”

“Maybe. He just told me I needed to impress him before he gave me his number, though. So he’s still up for grabs if you’re interested, ah- what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. It’s Michonne. And I’m married, so he’s all yours.”

“Good. Because I don’t want to have a knock-down-drag-out brawl with you over him. Not that I wouldn’t fight for him, don’t get me wrong here, Michonne." Negan clarifies. "But, frankly, you look like you could kick my ass into next Tuesday, so color me really fucking relieved that you’re not vying for his affection.”

“You would honor the results of the fight if I won, though?” She teases, “You’d just step back and let me have him, just like that?”

“You fucking _wound_ me, Michonne. I don’t look like a man of honor to you? You don’t think I’d gracefully accept defeat?”

“You look like you’re trying to infiltrate a biker gang, actually.” She jabs. “Hardly a man of honor.”

Negan laughs, his hand on his stomach. “Fucking touché! You’re right, though. I’m a fucking scoundrel. I’d still go after him. I’d show up outside his bedroom window in the dead of night, shouting poetry up to him in hopes of seducing him into my bed.”

Michonne snorts out a laugh. “Well, good luck with that. Is that how you’re planning on impressing him into getting his number?”

Negan hasn't actually thought of it, hasn't yet formulated a plan of seduction, but now that he’s said it, it doesn't sound half bad. The poetry part, at least. Maybe not the outside Rick’s window in the dead of night part.

“I have a plan. Trust me. You just watch, Michonne. By the time I leave here today, I will have Rick Grimes’ phone number. Mark my fucking words.”

“Consider them marked.” She says, returning to her book.

Negan, for his part, grabs the book of Walt Whitman poetry from where it still sits on the table in front of him. He wonders briefly why it's still there. Is it because nobody's touched it, nobody's picked it up to leaf through the pages and then slide it into place on the bookshelf when they're finished? Or is it because people have read it, and left it out?

He wonders if Rick's read any more of it. He can picture it so easily in his head: Rick, after a long day, closing up shop and mopping up spills and sweeping up crinkled straw wrappers off the tiled floor. He’d be just about to turn off the lamp sitting atop the bookshelf, when the book would catch his eye, just sitting there, waiting for him to crack it open. He’d sit for a while, recline in one of the armchairs, maybe put his feet up...? No, Negan decides. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t put his feet up on a table that people-his customers- eat at. Rick's much too classy for that. He’d cross one leg over the other and read, pour over the poems for a bit, maybe even make himself a coffee or snack on a leftover muffin while he did so.

Negan smiles to himself, liking the image. He cracks open the book in his lap and starts reading, both trying to take in the words of Whitman and searching desperately for a line. The perfect line, one that will give Rick a little glimpse of himself, much like Rick had let Negan glimpse him with the passage he’d chosen.

Somewhere along the line, Michonne stands up from her chair, stretches, slides her book back onto the shelf, and grabs her bag from beside her seat, slinging it over her shoulder. Negan wrenches himself out of _O Captain! My Captain!_ and looks up at her.

“You leaving?”

She looks amused. “Yeah. Gotta go pick up my son. Hell, I probably stayed here longer than I should have.”

“You’re gonna miss my big moment, Michonne. The crowning glory of my courtship with Rick. How will you sleep not knowing if I got his number?”

“Like a damn baby, I expect,” She volleys back with a grin. “I’ll find out soon enough. Like you said, you’re not about to give him up without a fight, right? So even if he turns you down tonight, you’ll be back. And I’m here a lot. Best coffee in town, and it’s five minutes from my firm. I’m guessing we’ll see each other again. And you can tell me all about how you tried to seduce Rick Grimes.”

“That had better be a fucking promise, sweetheart.”

“It is. And stick to Michonne.”

Negan gives her a curt nod and a soldier’s salute. “Yes fucking ma’am.”

She turns to leave, and then stops, glancing back at him. “I never got your name.”

“Guess you didn’t, did you? It’s Negan.” He answers.

Michonne nods. “Goodnight, Negan. And good luck.” She walks away, waving to Rick and Carl as she does so, and Negan returns to his reading.

As he's reading, Negan notices how often Whitman switches back and forth between the genders of the people he speaks of. In the poem that Rick had read from, he occasionally refers to the subject of his love as a _he_. It makes Negan smile to himself. How fitting, he thinks, that _this_ is the book of poetry that he’d picked up. Lucille had a whole collection of the works of poets, most of them women: Dickinson, Plath, Angelou, Lorde, Lowell. He had only grabbed Whitman at random, but it seems almost too perfect that he’d managed to grab a book full of love poetry by this man who had loved both men and women.

Negan finds that he can’t stop reading, even long after he’s found the words to share with Rick. He doesn’t just want to read until he derives what he needs out of Whitman, steal his words to get Rick into his bed. No, he deserves better. Deserves to be read, to be appreciated. Negan thinks that maybe, if he can absorb some of the sentiments in the poems, he’ll understand Rick a little better, understand Lucille a little better, but that’s not the only reason he reads it. He enjoys it, likes how the man arranges words in such a precious way.

There are a few poems that stand out to him. He reads all of the one that Rick read from, _Song of Myself_. There’s another one, one about the ocean, that makes Negan tear up as he reads it, because, _holy shit, it’s about Lucille_. He reads the lines over and over again, committing them to memory alongside the words he’s saving up for Rick. It’s like Lucille herself is sending the words to Negan through this long-dead poet:

_Return in peace to the ocean my love,_

_I too am part of that ocean, my love, we are not so much separated,_

_Behold the great rondure, the cohesion of all, how perfect!_

_But as for me, for you, the irresistible sea is to separate us,_

_As for an hour carrying us diverse, yet cannot carry us diverse forever;_

_Be not impatient – a little space – know you I salute the air, the ocean and the land,_

_Every day at sundown for your dear sake, my love._

He doesn’t realize how late it is or how long he’s been sitting there, pouring over the book, until he feels a tap on his shoulder. He glances up to see Rick standing over him, his smile affectionate. “You’ve been here a long time. Thought you’d have gotten my damn number by now. I was looking forward to going home for the night and seeing that you’d texted me a dozen times through the day.”

Negan balks. “What makes you think I’d do something as fucking desperate as that?”

Rick shrugs. “You just seem like the type, is all. And it’s not a desperate thing. You just talk a lot, and I can see you being the type of person who just casually texts people throughout the day. _Hey, Rick, I was walking home and saw a guy juggling cantaloupes on the street corner_ , or sends pictures of graffitied dicks on the walls of the Subway bathroom, or describes his weird dreams to people in vivid detail. Stuff like that. Stuff you’d think would make people laugh.”

Negan’s heart squeezes, and he wants to say so many things. He wants to say, _holy shit, you’ve got me fucking pegged, how do you do that,_ or _I can’t fucking believe that you think things like that about me, that you've given me enough thought to wonder what kind of texter I’d be like_. Because there’s something incredibly sweet that Rick has this idea of Negan in his head, that he’d text people to make them laugh. And he’s right. He’s absolutely fucking right. If he had Rick’s number, he’d probably send him every mildly funny thought that popped into his head, recount every even minutely interesting detail of his day to him, in hopes that Rick would be smiling or laughing on the other end.

But he can’t say any of that, because it feels like too much. He feels like he’d screw it up somehow, that his words would come out all wrong and Rick wouldn’t understand exactly how much what he just said means to Negan. So instead, he just grins and says, “So you’ve seen the cantaloupe guy, too?”

Rick laughs and nods. “He’s hard to miss.” He looks down at the book in Negan’s lap. “You’re almost done with it.” He notes. “If you want to finish it tonight, you can stay with I close up shop.”

_Wait- close up shop?_

Negan looks around and suddenly realizes that he’s the only patron left in the café. Outside, night has fallen, streetlights casting their orange-yellow glow over the streets. Shit, he’s been here a really long time. All fucking day, in fact, and he hadn’t even realized it. “Wow. I, uh. I didn’t realize I’d been here so fucking long. Shit. But yeah, I’ll stay. May as well finish it, right? I’m a finisher. Just keep that in mind, Rick.” He gives the other man a lewd wink, and Rick reaches for the broom and dustpan.

“I hope that’s not your idea of impressing me, Negan.” He deapans, “Because if you’ve been here all day and that’s the best you’ve come up with, I’m gonna be really disappointed.”

Negan waves him off and returns to his reading. “That’s not it, baby. You’ll know when I’m trying to impress you.”

For the next half hour, Negan drinks in Whitman and Rick tidies up the shop, cleaning machines and straightening chairs. When he’s done, he seats himself in the chair beside Negan, watches him read. When Negan finally turns the last page, reads the last line, and sets the book back on the table, Rick is looking at him expectantly.

“What?” Negan asks.

“Did you like him?” Rick asks, eyes wide.

Negan nods vigorously. “Yeah. Yeah, I really fucking did. I mean, I’ve never been a poetry guy, but he’s got a way with words. And I noticed- he writes about men, too. Men and women. The guy fucking swung both ways. Pretty damn coincidental, I think.”

Rick’s smile takes over his face. “Pretty damn coincidental.” He agrees. “So, is that how you’re impressing me? By reading the whole Whitman collection? Because I’ve gotta admit, that’s pretty good. I figured you’d just find a nice line or two and see if that worked.”

“Nah, Rick. Whitman deserves better than that. More effort.” He wonders if Rick picks up on the double meaning hiding in his words: _You deserve more, Rick. You deserve more than a line. You deserve the whole damn book_.

“So that’s your grand gesture?” Rick asks, confirming. Negan shakes his head.

“That’s part of it. But I did find you a line. A short poem, actually. I think I’ve got the whole thing memorized by now, I’ve gone back and read it so many times today.”

Rick spreads his hands in front of him. “Go on, then.”

All of a sudden, Rick feels too far away. Negan slides out of his seat, sits on the table in front of Rick. He watches as Rick’s eyes go wide, and, on a whim, he raises one hand to the side of Rick’s face, thumb stroking his beard as he speaks.

_Passing stranger! You do not know how longingly I look upon you_

_You must be he I was seeking, it comes to me, as of a dream,_

_I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,_

_All is recalled as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,_

_You grew up with me, you were a boy with me,_

_I ate with you, and slept with you- your body has become not yours only, nor left my body mine only,_

_You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass- you take of my beard, breast, hands in return,_

_I am not to speak to you- I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone,_

_I am to wait- I do not doubt I am to meet you again,_

_I am to see to it that I do not lose you_

Negan breathes out the words in barely more than a whisper, a soft murmur between him and Rick. There’s no need for him to be loud- it’s only him and Rick here, after all.

He watches Rick’s face as he recites the poem to him, watches as it changes from surprise, to affection, to something deeper. When Negan finishes, he knows that he’s chosen well. Rick swallows hard, and Negan watches the way his throat moves, wants to press his lips to the flushed skin there.

Negan’s hand is still on Rick’s face, and one of Rick’s hands moves up to cover it. “So?” Negan asks, hating the little breathy hitch in his speech. “How’d I do?”

Rick looks at him, his eyes a deep, fathomless blue in the low light of the café. “I’m impressed.” He whispers.

And then Rick’s lips are on his, and Negan’s gasping into his mouth and then crushing Rick to his chest, fingers sliding up to tangle in Rick’s wavy hair. It happens so fast that he doesn’t know how Rick ended up in his lap, or how his tongue ended up exploring Rick’s mouth, or how Rick’s hands came to scrabble at the back of his jacket, grasping at the leather with shaky fingers. Rick tastes like coffee and cinnamon gum, and his lips are so soft as they move against Negan’s that he can’t hold back the little breathy moan that escapes from him. His hands stroke Rick’s hair, his beard, feeling the rough brush of stubble against his palms and loving it. He can feel Rick breathing heavy against him, can feel his legs up along his own thighs as he straddles him on the table.

And then, all at once, Rick is gone, out of his lap, and Negan’s left grasping pathetically at the air and making a frustrated, needy noise in the back of his throat. Rick bolts behind the counter and busies himself with something, and Negan takes a second to breathe deeply and will down the stirring in his jeans before he strides over to ask what exactly the fuck is going on.

Before he can say anything, Rick thrusts a cup into Negan’s hands. Negan stares down at it blankly, blinking in muddled confusion.

“Rick, it’s pushing eleven o’clock at night, and I’ve got to be up in the morning to teach freshmen the importance of volleyball. The last thing I need right now is coffee.”

Rick shoots him a disgruntled look. “Just look at the cup, asshole.”

Negan does, spinning it in his hand until he sees a ten-digit number scrawled down the side in Rick’s wobbly handwriting. He breaks into a wide grin, immediately pulling out his phone and adding Rick to his contact list as “Blue Eyes”.

Rick is smirking at him when he looks back up. “I expect a text from you soon. None of that wait-three-days bullshit. We’re too old for that.”

Negan nods. “Promise.”

Rick grins. “Good. Now get out of here. We’ve been closed for an hour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poetry excerpts from Whitman's "Out of the Rolling Ocean the Crowd" and "To a Stranger", respectively.


	4. Chapter 4

Negan texts Rick first thing in the morning the next day, his hand blindly scrabbling around on the bedside table where his alarm is blaring, seeking his phone. He opens up a new message to _Blue Eyes_ , taps out a quick text before rolling out of bed to grab a shower before work.

_I was hoping my first text to you could be some romantic shit about how I dreamed about you last night, but my brain fucking failed me. Had some trippy as balls dream about playing basketball with a whale in the high school gym._

When Negan checks his phone after his shower, Rick’s already texted him back.

**_I knew you were the kind of guy who tells people about his weird dreams._ **

Something warms and soft glows in Negan’s chest.

_You dream about me, Rick? Anything you wanna share with the class?_

He gets a reply ten minutes later, as he’s downing his pop tarts on the way out the door. He immediately starts scrambling for his phone in his pocket, only to drop his keys as he tries to unlock his car.

_**Sadly, no.** _

Negan boos softly under his breath, and then texts that to Rick before shoving his phone back into his pocket and driving to work. No texting while driving, he chides himself, even though his phone feels like a burning rectangle of lead in his pocket. When he feels it buzz, his fingers itch to answer it, and he almost laughs at himself.

_Tripping over yourself to answer his texts, Negan_ , He thinks to himself, _What the hell have you gotten yourself into?_

* * *

Negan makes the mistake of keeping his phone on him during his first class. He doesn’t think much of it at the time- it’s not like the high schoolers that he teaches are going to have the nuts to call him out for texting while they’re running laps around the gym. Hell, more than once he’s caught teenagers sneaking texts or scrolling through Instagram under the bleachers. He doesn’t really care, just barks at them to hurry the fuck up and get back to whatever they were supposed to be doing. It probably makes him the bane of the principal’s existence, but he feels like the no-cell-phones-during-class-periods rule is a futile thing to try to enforce. As long as the kids are getting their half-mile in, or are managing to sink a couple baskets or whatever shit they're doing today, he’s not bothered if they text their crushes while they wait.

However, Negan underestimated just how much he’d be texting Rick. He kind of assumed that the guy would be too busy to have a constant chatter with him, but he guesses that being the owner has its perks, and mid-morning on a Thursday doesn’t see the most action for non-chain off-the-beaten-path coffee joints. So Rick’s texting him back pretty frequently, and he doesn’t realize that he’s not really doing much teaching until one of his students calls him out on it.

“Hey, coach! You got a boyfriend or something?” Ron Anderson calls over at him, volleyball in hand. The kid probably doesn’t mean anything by it, but Negan doesn’t like his tone when he says the word _boyfriend_ , so he decides to bite.

“You know, Anderson, I just might, if I can get this damn text out,” He retorts, his face serious. “So maybe you wanna try to actually get that ball over the damn net this time instead of interrupting me?”

Ron gives him a look like he can’t tell if he’s joking, so Negan barks, “Spike the damn ball! You know where it goes!” Ron takes the shot and misses, the ball grazing the top of the net and then dropping to the floor. He shoots Negan a glare. Negan considers it a win, but makes a mental note to put his phone away next period. Not because little shits like Ron Anderson might give him grief, but because if one of the staff walked in here, they’d be all over his ass for texting during a class, and he doesn’t want to deal with it. So after the first bell rings, he stows his phone in his office and shoots Rick one last text that reads, _Hey, gotta go for a bit, gonna get chewed out if the VP catches me with my phone. Text you on my lunch break._

Negan hasn’t been so excited to take a lunch break in a long fucking time. The only thing in recent memory that comes close is the time he had leftover pizza from his favorite Italian place for lunch, and that doesn’t even begin to measure up. Rick Grimes is so much better than a cold slice from Giovanni’s.

By the time lunch period rolls around, Negan’s positively giddy thinking about texting Rick back. He all but bounces into his office and dives for his phone first instead of his sandwich.

Rick’s only texted him once, a reply to the last one Negan sent: **_Don’t get chewed out. Talk to you later._**

Negan taps out a message before taking a bite of roast beef on rye: _In the clear. You fucking miss me?_

He munches away in tense silence for a few minutes before he gets a reply from Rick.

**_Did you miss me?_ **

Negan scoffs around a swig of root beer. Cheeky Fucker.

_I asked you first._

**_Are you ten?_** Is Rick’s response. Negan chuckles to himself.

_No, but I’m A ten, baby._

He can practically see Rick rolling his eyes at that one, and that gives him an idea. Before Rick has time to shoot back some sassy retort, he sends another text: _Send me a picture._

It takes Rick a little longer to reply this time, and Negan conjures up an idea of Rick’s selfie face in his head. Cute, head tilted, maybe a little camera-shy, eyes not looking straight forward. He doesn’t strike Negan as someone who takes a lot of pictures of himself, or texts a lot of flirty men who recite poetry to him. But then again, Negan thinks, maybe he’s wrong. Maybe Rick Grimes is a big ol’ player, and Negan’s not the only one he’s using that sweet southern charm on. A little knot of jealousy works its way into his gut, but he pushes it away. He’s known Rick a week, flirted a handful to times, they’ve told each other about their dead wives, kissed once. He doesn’t know a whole lot about him, he realizes. No need to assume anything.

When his phone buzzes again, he’s met not with the image of Rick’s face, but a picture of…an espresso machine, one full cup of coffee beneath it. Negan frowns at the screen.

_What the fuck, Rick?_

**_You asked for a picture. I sent you a picture._**  Negan rolls his eyes at how literal the guy is.

_I mean a picture of you, dumbass. Who sends a picture of whatever’s in front of them?_

Rick just texts back **_Oh._**

Another couple minutes’ wait, and Negan’s about to text him again and be a little more straightforward about what he’s wanting, when he gets another picture. He opens it, and feels his heart jump a little in his chest.

This time, it’s an actual picture of Rick. Negan wasn’t that far off in his imaginings of him: he looks a little camera-shy, a slightly open-mouthed, confused smile on his face. He clearly moved around a bit to try to get a decent shot, because he’s not behind the counter anymore. It looks like he’s sitting by one of the windows, because half his face is illuminated by a warm light. It lights up one eye, the blue startlingly bright. **_I don’t take a lot of selfies_** , Rick’s accompanying text says.

Negan thinks he looks damn near perfect.

On a whim, he holds his thumb down on the picture and saves it to his phone. A thought skitters across his mind, unbidden: _This could be the first of many._

He can’t let himself think about that right now. It’s too soon, too much. For all he knows, Rick’s just looking for a little fun. Someone to flirt with, go out on a couple dates, maybe. If Negan’s lucky, Rick may keep him around long enough to take him to bed a couple times. That’s easier to think about. No feelings, _no this could be the start of something_ , just Rick Grimes, laid out between the sheets. It’s a nice image, and Negan tells himself that if he needs to focus on something, somewhere for this to go, he should focus on that. Not on…whatever the hell it was the just crossed his mind.

He realizes that he hasn’t replied to the picture, so he does that now: _Damn, Rick. You look fucking good. Not gonna lie, I think my dick just twitched a little._

He can picture Rick laughing on the other end. He gets a text that says, _**Shut up. Your turn.**_

Negan grins, opens his phone camera, finds a good angle, snaps a picture, sends it to Rick: _I’m no blue-eyed babe, but I’m not half bad._

**_Not bad at all._ **

Negan chuckles. _Wow, Rick. You been outta the game for a while or something? Your flirting skills are fucking weak. Smokin’ hot guy sends you a picture, and all you have to say is not bad?_

He gets a reply less than a minute later: _ **I mean, my wife died your years ago, so yeah, it’s been a while.**_

Negan freezes mid-sip of his drink, staring wide-eyed at his screen. No fucking way. There’s no way Rick means what Negan thinks he means. Four fucking years…

Another text. **_Besides, you compliment yourself enough for the both of us, don’t you think? Calling yourself smokin' hot, and all._**

Negan can’t even conjure up a retort to that, because he’s still stuck on text number one like gum on the bottom of a shoe. Four years. Rick Grimes…hasn’t been with anyone in four years. Hasn’t been kissed, or touched, or _fucked_ , in four years. It’s incomprehensible. The man’s all sugar and spice and everything sexy, why the hell hasn’t he been dating? Surely people before Negan have tried. They’d be beyond fucking stupid not to, he thinks. Who the hell could look at Rick Grimes and not fall a little in love instantly?

Negan doesn’t realize that he’s been sitting there, staring dumbstruck at his phone for a long while until Rick texts him again.

**_Fine, you big baby. You look good. Are you happy now? You’re not gonna give me the cold shoulder over this, are you?_ **

Negan lets himself have little moment of childish glee that Rick said he looked good, before he replies.

_Rick. You…haven’t dated anyone since your wife died?_

A minute of tense waiting, and then: **_No. Why?_**

_Why not?_

**_Just haven’t been up to it, I guess. I was a mess for a while after Lori, in a really bad place, and after I finally got out of it, I just focused on my kids, bought the coffee shop, threw myself into that._ **

_But for four years? Nothing? How are you not climbing the damn walls? How has your dick not staged a fucking mutiny? An intervention? Something?_

Rick’s next text fills him with an uncomfortable wave of shame: **_How long after Lucille did you wait?_**

Fuck. He knows Rick doesn’t mean it like that, that he's asking either out of curiosity or to gauge how fucking weird it is that he hasn’t gotten any in four years, but it feels like an accusation. And all of a sudden, Negan feels like the shittiest person at the shitshow, because here Rick is, a picture of devotion and goodness, and Negan…can’t say the same. Not by a long shot.

_Six months._ He replies, and the admission, especially in the face of Rick’s four years of abstinence, feels like a confession of guilt. Like he’d been out on the prowl, forgetting about Lucille while he fucked his way through a line of ass, when that’s not the case at all. _I went through a bad time after Lucille, too. Didn’t handle it the best way. Stayed cooped up in my house for weeks, only went out to drink myself stupid and get laid. Pretty shitty, right?_

Rick is easy on him. Understanding. He’s not quick to judge.

_**Everyone handles it differently. Not like what I’m doing is normal. I know it’s a long time.** _

_You ever thought about breaking your vow of abstinence?_

**_You mean before this week?_ **

Negan’s heart gives a little leap. Not like he didn’t know, since Rick had been tongue-fucking him while sitting in his lap just last night, but still.

_Yeah, before this week._

_**There were a couple people. Furthest it ever went was talking. Not even flirting, just talking. Anytime it started to go further I’d freak out, back off.** _

_Why didn’t you do that with me? Hell, people freak out and back off with me even if they haven’t lost their wife._

**_Not sure. Might have had something to do with how you were crying about your wife in the middle of my shop._ **

_You didn’t find me intimidating after all that shit?_

_**Didn’t find you intimidating to begin with. After that…you were someone I had something in common with. You were a mess and didn’t give a shit, and I liked that.** _

_You like me because I’m a mess? Because I fucking cried in front of you?_

**_I like you for a lot of reasons. You being a mess just let me know it’s alright if I’m not all together, too._ **

_That’s a damn good answer, Rick._

It’s then that Negan hears the bell ring, signaling the end of his lunch break, and it’s with great regret that he texts Rick that he has to go again.

He feels like one of his students, a damn hormonal teenager with a first crush. The rest of the day, he’s distracted, thinking about Rick, wondering if it would be too much to stop by _Judith’s_ after work to see him.

By the time the final bell rings, he decides that he doesn’t care. He’s going to see Rick, _too soon_ be damned. He doesn’t text Rick to tell him he’s swinging by, opting to make it a surprise. That’s a romantic thing to do, right? Stop by for spontaneous visits for coffee and flirting? As he's grabbing his phone and keys from his desk, something catches his eye- the framed photo of Lucille that he still has sitting there. He could never bring himself to take it down. Doesn't see why he should have to. She's still his wife, after all. She may not be alive, but that won't stop him from loving the shit out of her.

He slows his roll for a minute, stopping to look at the photo. It's one he’d taken of her probably two or three months before she was diagnosed. She's not looking directly at the camera, her face angled slightly down as she laughs, and he can still remember exactly why. They’d been on their front porch-back when they still had the house Negan had sold after she died- and he’d been telling her about his day, replaying the antics of gangly-limbed high school freshmen trying to get the hang of basketball. It hadn’t been the best day for him, as one of the kids had accidentally hit him in the face with the damn ball, leaving him with one hell of a shiner that he was going to have to explain that a fucking five-foot-two freshman with the muscle tone of spaghetti gave to him. He’d been pissed, but somehow, telling the story to Lucille, it had gotten funny. She had a way of doing that, of making all his anger and pissiness melt away until all that was left was laughter. So that’s what they were doing, laughing so hard they were wheezing because of Negan’s black eye, and he’d looked up at her and thought, _Goddamn, I need a picture of her right fucking now_.

He’s still glad he had taken it. It isn’t the best quality picture, as he’d just snapped it quickly on his phone, but it’s still one of his favorites of her. Nose crinkled, curly hair falling in her face, dark, smooth skin illuminated by the dying sunlight behind her. He had never really felt like he deserved her, but she’d had a way of making him feel like he was worthy.

Negan strokes the frame of the picture, smiling softly. “I know you’re not mad about Rick, baby. I know you weren’t mad about the others, either, but I know you know Rick is different. I know you wouldn’t want me to feel guilty about going after him.”

Yeah, he talks to her picture sometimes. Does it a lot, actually. Occupational hazard of loneliness. He gives the picture one last glance before he turns out the light and locks his office up behind him. It’s time to pay a certain barista a visit.

* * *

When he pulls up to Judith’s Java, he already has a smooth line all prepared to make Rick get all adorably flustered and flushed. When he strolls in, he sees that Carl’s manning the counter alongside a girl that looks to be about his age that Negan hasn’t seen before.

“Damn, kid. I meant to ask this the first time I saw you working here in the middle of the afternoon, but why aren’t you in class or something? Your dad doesn’t seem like the type to let his kid be a high school dropout.”

“I’m in college. First semester. I commute and work here on days I don’t have class.” Carl looks slightly miffed at having been mistaken for a high school, and Negan laughs.

“Shit, sorry. Didn’t mean you look that young or anything. Just assumed, I guess.” Carl gives him a shut-up-and-let-me-take-your-order-so-we-can-stop-talking look, so he says, “Large coffee, shot of caramel.” And lets the kid ring him up.

“Say, kid. Your dad here?”

“What, so you guys can be gross some more?”

Negan gives him a wry grin. “Yes, as a matter of fucking fact. He in the back? Can you got get him for me?”

“Can you call me something other than ‘kid’?

Negan barks out a laugh. “Sure thing, ki- Carl. Could you go get your dad for me, _Carl?”_

Carl looks satisfied and hands Negan his coffee. “Nope. He’s not here. Went to go pick up Judith from preschool and run errands and stuff. He always leaves early on Thursdays. Me and Edith are closing tonight.” He jerks his thumb at the girl behind the counter with him, and she gives Negan a friendly wave.

Well, damn, if that isn’t the most disappointing thing he’s heard all day. Part of him wants to stick around, give Carl a hard time, but he decides he probably shouldn’t. The kid would probably rip his head off if he did, and if Rick’s not here, Negan should probably head home. Maybe he could give him a call, if Rick’s off work.

“Alright. Thanks, Carl.” Negan pulls out his wallet, shoves a five dollar bill into the tip jar at the front counter. “I’ll be back soon. Let you dad know I stopped by, will you?”

He hears Carl mutter a _sure_ at him as he leaves, but he doesn’t actually need the kid to relay the message. He’ll just tell Rick himself. He gets into his car, pulls out his phone, snaps a picture of himself with the _Judith’s Java_ coffee cup next to his face, and sends it to Rick.

_Stopped by and you weren’t there. Your kid’s great, but I’d much rather see your face, blue eyes._

When Negan gets home, he tosses the empty cup in the trash and flops down on the couch, flipping through channels until he settles on reruns of _Friends_ playing back-to-back. He checks his phone, sees that Rick’s texted him back: **_Everyone needs a day off, Negan._**

_And you deserve it, I’m sure. Just missed seeing you. It’s not Judith’s without being able to flirt with the hot single dad running the show. I had a smooth one-liner all prepared, too. Would’ve made you drop your damn apron and finish what you started last night._

**_Oh yeah? You wanna try it out now?_ **

_It works better if you can hear the sultry sound of my voice. Can I call you?_

He gets his answer less than a minute later, when he gets an incoming call from _Blue Eyes_. Negan eagerly accepts the call, pressing the phone to his ear.

“So what’s this apron-dropping one-liner I’ve heard so much about, Negan?”

“Okay, so I may have built it up a little. It’s not going to be as charming over the phone. In person, it wouldn’t have had all this build up, I just would have strolled right in, said ‘Baby, I’ve been thinking about you a latte, is there something brewing between us?’ and you would have swooned immediately at my coffee-related flirtation.”

He can hear Rick laughing on the other line, all muffled, wheezy breaths. “God, I really hope that would have been better in person, because over the phone it was pretty terrible. You thought _that_ was gonna make me swoon?”

“Well, I sure fucking hoped it would, Rick! Spent the whole day coming up with coffee-related lines to get into your pants. There was a lot on the cutting floor. Stuff about hot Americanos and grinding the beans and letting me espresso my feelings for you and shit like that.”

“I don’t know if I should keep laughin' at you or be flattered that you spent the day thinkin’ about me.”

“Easy, Rick. Be flattered. I don’t do that shit for just anybody.”

“Is that so?”

“You fucking bet your cute little ass it is, Rick.”

“So I’m the only one you’re seducing with snappy lines like that right now?”

Negan hears the insecurity under the teasing, tries not to let it hurt, not to take it personally. Rick doesn’t know him that well, hasn’t been with anyone in four years, and Negan just told him earlier that he’d gone through a random hookup phase. He has cause to be concerned.

“Yeah, Rick. You’re the only one. I cut out the drunk bar hookup thing out after a month or two. Felt shitty. Decided to give it a rest for a while.”

“Oh.” Rick sounds relieved. “Good. Good for you, I mean. That you stopped. That’s how you get diseases, you know.”

Negan groans, rolling his eyes. “I know, _dad_. Fuck. Is that what you’re worried about, Rick? That you’re gonna catch something from me? Because I’ve got a clean bill of health, I swear. I can show you the papers. No rabies, no cooties, no crabs.”

“Good to know.”

“So, uh. You gonna be working tomorrow? Because there’s something I wanted to ask you. In person, that is.”

“You can’t just ask me now?”

“I can. But I won’t. I wanna do it in person. Wanna see your face.”

“You sure are pretty damn obsessed with my face, Negan.”

“It’s a hell of a nice face, Rick, what can I say? Makes me wanna do bad things to it.” He realizes that that may not have come across how he wanted it to, so he clarifies. “Sexual things. Not…not violent things. Like, I don’t want to see you all bruised up and bleeding or anything. Jesus. Fuck. This is coming out all fucking wrong, isn’t it? I was trying to say…well, I think you know what I was trying to say-”

“I know what you were trying to say, Negan,” Rick confirms. “You’re a complicated man, Negan. One minute, you’re sweet and saying you need to see me in person to ask me out on a date, the next minute you’re saying you want to come on my face. You’re gonna give me whiplash.”

Negan chokes. “Who the hell said anything about asking you out on a date, Rick? I don’t remember saying a goddamn thing about that.”

“I know. Just call it a hunch.”

“I’m gonna call it you being real motherfucking cocky, that’s what I’m gonna call it. _Ask you on a date_. Maybe I just want a damn coffee.”

Rick laughs. “Sure, Negan.” There’s a muffled voice in the background and Rick calls, “Be right there!” to whoever said it before addressing Negan again. “Hey, I’ve gotta go. Judith just woke up. I’ll, uh. I’ll see you tomorrow? I’ll be working ‘til five.”

“You eager, Rick?”

“Not half as much as you are.” Rick retorts good-naturedly, and Negan can’t exactly deny it.

“Fair enough, baby. Fair enough. You have fun with the little angel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow.” Rick confirms. “Bye, Negan.”

The call disconnects, and Negan wishes almost immediately that Rick was still on the other line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank so much to everyone who's been reading a commenting, I'm so glad people are enjoying this!


	5. Chapter 5

Negan’s a man of his word, so the next day after he gets off work, he drives straight to Judith’s Java and makes a beeline for Rick, who is, as promised, working today.

Negan knows he’s not imagining the way Rick’s eyes light up a little when he sees him. And he’s definitely not imagining the wide smile that stretches across his face when Negan approaches the counter.

“The usual, I’m guessing? Large coffee, shot of caramel?” Rick asks, and Negan likes that Rick already knows his coffee order after a week.

“Yep.” He answers, looking Rick up and down. “So, about what I wanted to ask you last night…”

“You mean the thing that wasn’t you askin’ me out?” Rick jokes.

“I never said it wasn’t that, Rick. Just said it’s a bit cocky for you to _assume_ I’m gonna ask you out.”

“I don’t think so.”

“No?”

“Nope,” Rick says, and his lips pop a little when he says it so sassy like that, and Negan is momentarily distracted by those lips. So pretty and pink, _and soft_ , he thinks, remembering the way they’d felt pressed against his own. They’d probably look damn good all kiss-swollen and wrapped around Negan’s-

“I think you’ve been leadin’ up to it for over a week now. Hardly cocky. So, are you gonna?”

Negan comes back to himself. “Jesus, Rick, you sure do like to take all the fun and suspense outta this, don’t you? This is hardly romantic, you’re practically asking yourself out for me.”

Rick grins up at him, blue eyes bright. “I’m so sorry, Negan. You’re right. So, there was something you wanted to ask me?”

“There sure was, baby.” He smiles. “Rick, would you do me the honor of going out on a date with me tonight?”

Rick’s face falls, just a little, and Negan internally panics, suddenly wondering if he’s somehow managed to read everything wrong and if this was all a game of chicken between them and he just lost-

“Tonight’s family night. Me and Carl and Judith always spend Friday nights together.” Negan nods, understanding.

“Alright, yeah, no, that’s alright-”

“How about tomorrow?” Rick’s voice sounds so hopeful and apologetic, like he knows exactly how it looked when his face fell and he wants to reassure Negan that he hasn’t been jerking him around for the past week.

Negan smiles, reaches out to brush a thumb against the side of Rick’s face. “Sure thing, Rick. Tomorrow night.”

* * *

Negan spends all of Saturday in an excited haze right up to six o’clock. He and Rick had texted a bit more yesterday, set a time, and Negan agreed to pick him up at six-thirty. He’s changed shirts three times, from his usual plain white tee, to a black polo, to a gray button-up. He dons his usual leather jacket loosely over it, slicks his hair back, brushes his teeth for a solid five minutes, takes the time to floss. It feels ridiculous to be this nervous about a first date when he’s fifty years old and has already made out with the guy and cried in front of him, but try telling that to the nervous jitter in his hands.

When he pulls up in front of Rick’s house, it’s exactly how he pictured it: a cute little two-story place, front porch with a glider, a tire swing in a tree out front. It vaguely brings Negan back to days spent on his old front porch with Lucille, and he feels his throat get thick for a second before he swallows it down. Lucille wouldn’t want him getting emotional like that and ruining his date with Rick. He can practically hear her voice in his head, sweet and scolding: 

_Don't you use me as an excuse to flake the fuck out on this one, Negan._

He walks up the brick path leading to the porch and knocks. When the door opens, he’s surprised to see a blonde girl that’s probably a handful of years older than Carl standing in the doorway.

“I, uh.” Negan says, wondering if he somehow got the wrong house. “Is Rick here?”

“Yeah!” She chirps, “You must be Negan. I’m Beth. Judith’s babysitter. Do you wanna come in?”

“We were just about to leave.” Rick’s voice echoes from behind her, and then he’s standing in the doorway, and Negan’s a little speechless because _damn, Rick looks good right now_. His hair is combed back neatly, the long ends curling at the nape of his neck, and he’s wearing a dark blue button-up that brings out his eyes and fits him just right. Negan’s eyes rake over him, and when they settle on his face, there’s a faint pink blush there.

“Well, god-fucking-damn, Rick Grimes,” Negan whistles. “Just when I thought there wasn’t a way for you to look any better, here you are.” Negan takes a bit of satisfaction in the way that Rick’s blush deepens and he shifts from leg to leg like he’s embarrassed by Negan’s flattery. Rick turns to Beth.

“Thanks for watching her.” He says, and she brushes him off.

“It’s no problem. Have fun on your date.” She has a mischievous, knowing smile on her face, and Negan decides in that moment that he likes Beth.

They wave goodbye to Beth and then they’re off, cruising down the road in Negan’s car, and Negan has to use all of his willpower to not slide a hand off the wheel and onto Rick’s knee.

“So, where are we going?” Rick asks, fiddling idly with his shirt collar. He has a air of nervousness around him and it makes Negan relax a little, knowing that Rick's just as anxious about tonight as he is. It makes him want to try even harder, make it that much better for him. 

“Little Italian place called Giovanni’s. You’ll love it. Best goddamn pizza I’ve ever had, the pasta’s killer, and he makes a mean cannoli.”

Rick hums, nodding his head, and they chat idly for a while over the faint noise of the radio playing in the background. It feels natural, feels right, Negan thinks. All of the nervous energy that had been thrumming through him back at his apartment is gone now, replaced by a hopeful sort of excitement. He only hopes Rick feels the same way. If anything, he seems more at ease, turned toward Negan in his seat as they pull into the crowded parking lot. 

Giovanni’s is busy on Saturday evenings, but Negan called ahead, and they’re seated immediately. It's a homey little place, all warm lighting and stacked stone, and they settle into a booth across from each other. Negan already knows what he wants before they’re even served their drinks, so he watches Rick as he pours over the menu, asking Negan for recommendations. He finally settles on the chicken parmesan, which, as Negan tells him, is “So fucking good that you’ll want to fucking go out and catch chickens just to sacrifice them to the parm,” and Negan orders his usual meat lover’s pie with a suggestive wink at Rick. Once their menus have been taken up, Negan’s focus settles squarely on the man in front of him.

“So,” He says, “Family night, huh? That’s really fucking sweet, Rick. Especially since Carl’s in college, it’s impressive you can still rope him into stuff like that.”

“I got lucky with him,” Rick agrees. “After his mom…well, he had some trouble after Lori. Always seemed mad at me, started acting out at school, got into a couple fights. Nothing serious, just…he was always one to keep to himself before, so it was surprising. We worked past it, though. He’s a great kid. I thought he’d flip and say I’d gone off the deep end when he heard I wanted to buy a coffee shop, but he didn’t.”

“What made you buy it?”

“Just needed a change, I guess. Somethin’ stable. I, uh. I had some money from Lori’s life insurance, and back in the early days, before we even got married, way back in high school, we talked about opening a business together or something. A restaurant, actually. I can’t cook, though, so she was gonna be the chef, I’d handle the people.”

Negan’s eyes widen a bit, because _high school_. Rick sure knew his wife a long time. “How long were the two of you together?”

“Twenty-one years, total. We got together senior year of high school, married when I was twenty-two.”

Negan lets out a low whistle. “Damn, Rick. Your relationship was legal to get shitfaced.” Rick laughs at that. “Since high school, huh? Wow. You two really were the whole guy-and-gal-next-door deal, weren’t you? Can’t imagine being married to my high school sweetheart. Can't imagine my high school sweetheart would have wanted to be married to _me_. But then again, you seem like you would have been more together than I was back then.”

“Probably.” Rick agreed. “I was…pretty straight-laced. Lori was my first girlfriend. Got all my teenage socialization through my best friend, Shane. He was the wild one, I was the responsible one. We always said we were thankful that we grew up together, because if we’d met when we were teenagers, we probably would’ve hated each other.”

Negan can just see it: a teenage Rick, playing designated driver for his wilder friends, making sure they got home safe. Covering for them with their parents when they woke up with hangovers on his couch. And Lori…Negan realizes what Rick’s just told him. The information feels fragile, sensitive, like he’s being trusted to not be a dick about it: Rick’s only ever been with his wife.

Negan wouldn’t dream of using that information to take advantage. Not ever.

“You sound like a real sweetheart, Rick. Not much has changed, huh?”

“Not everything, no.” Rick agrees, “But enough.” He bounces his leg under the table, his calf brushing Negan’s. He lets it rest there, waiting for Negan’s reaction. Negan presses his leg into Rick’s, returns his smile.

“So how’re you doing with everything with Lucille?” Rick asks, his tone light and casual, trying not to tread too far into murky water without a sign that Negan can handle it.

“I, uh. I’ve been better, I think. I’m getting better, I mean. Guess I just needed a fucking reason to, you know?” He says it without thinking, and cringes, because _it’s their first fucking date for fuck’s sake_ , but when he dares to meet Rick’s eyes, the other man doesn’t look uncomfortable. He looks…happy. Really fucking happy, actually. His face is all warmth and affection in the soft light of the restaurant.

“I’m glad you found your reason, then.” He says, and it sounds like the beginning of something. 

When they get their food, they both dissolve into comfortable silence, the only sounds at the table being the little noises of satisfaction they both make when they take their first bites.

“You weren’t kidding. This is amazing,” Rick says around a mouthful, and Negan can only nod, because he’s eating the best slice of pizza he’s ever had. He can feel cheese dripping down his chin, and rushes to swipe it away, hoping Rick didn’t see.

The amused look on his face says he did, but also that he doesn’t mind.

They try to savor their food, taking small bites, chatting and flirting, Negan stealing a forkful of chicken off of Rick’s plate and Rick taking an offered bite of pizza in return. They split a cannoli for dessert, and Negan can’t resist telling Rick how good he looks with his lips wrapped around it, which makes Rick sputter and blush and kick him under the table.

When they leave the restaurant, there’s a cool evening breeze, enough to make them scurry to Negan’s car for warmth. On the drive back, Negan thinks back on their talk at dinner and has another question.

“So you bought the café after Lori died?”

“Mmhm.” Rick hums.

“What’d you do before that?”

Rick turns to him, and Negan can feel him staring in the dark of the car. “I was a deputy sheriff.”

Negan chokes, shoots Rick a brief look of utter disbelief before returning his eyes to the road. “You’re fucking shitting me. A cop? You were a fucking _cop_?”

“No need to act so surprised,” Rick says, but his tone is light. “I always thought the restaurant thing with Lori was a bit of a pipedream, so I joined the academy right out of high school. I loved it, too. Made me feel like I was doing somethin' worthwhile.”

“Goddamn,” Negan murmurs, impressed. “Why’d you hang it up?”

“After Lori died, it seemed too risky. I’d had a couple close calls on the job, stuff I’d been too scared to tell Lori about because I knew she’d freak out, start getting worried. And she _should_ have. I was putting myself in danger, being out there. And after she was gone, I knew I couldn’t keep doing that. Couldn’t keep risking myself, knowing that I was all Carl and Judith had left. I realized that I'd been out there trying to feel like I was helping people, making a difference, but I could do that at home, with my kids. ”

Negan feels a swell of affection and pride for the man beside him. “You’re a hell of a guy, Rick. Never stop surprising me, you know that?”

Once they get back into the general area of Negan’s apartment and Rick’s house, Negan wants to slow down until he’s driving at a little-old-lady crawl, just to spend more time with Rick. And apparently Rick feels the same way, because he says, “Don’t take me home. Not yet.”

Negan’s heart is in his throat. “Where you wanna go, baby?” He breathes.

Rick casts him a look that’s full of promise, his eyes glinting in the reflected light from the street. “Your place?”

Rick doesn’t have to ask him twice.

Negan pulls into a spot in front of his building, parks, and they linger there in the car for a minute, the atmosphere thick between them. Rick surprises Negan by making the first move. He reaches over, curls a hand in the lapel of Negan’s jacket, and pulls them together, their lips meeting over the center console. They kiss slowly at first, in contrast with the rushed kiss in the café the other night. And then Negan can’t stand not being all over Rick, so he takes it further, deepening the kiss with one hand on the side of Rick’s face and the other on his back, pressing on the spot between his shoulders to draw him closer. Rick’s fingers wind around the back of his neck, and then Rick’s tongue is in his mouth, warm and wet, and something in Negan’s brain fizzles out, because suddenly he’s hauling Rick over to his seat and pulling him into his lap. It’s an awkward moment of bumping legs and heads hitting the roof, but then Rick’s hips are pressed into his and Negan’s hands are on his waist and Rick’s making these soft little noises as they kiss that seem to have a direct line to Negan’s dick.

And it’s then that Negan thinks about how Rick hasn’t been with anyone since his wife died, hasn’t been with anyone at all except for his wife. He’s not sure what Rick wants out of this, if he just wants to get laid, or if he actually wants to see where this goes. Because Negan…Negan knows what he wants from Rick. He wants everything the man’s willing to give him. And suddenly he’s terrified that he’s just going to be some spur-of-the-moment mistake that Rick’s making because he’s horny and hasn’t gotten any in a long time, and the thought is enough to make Negan stop.

“Rick…” Negan hates himself for the way he pulls back, just enough to part their lips. Hates how his hand on Rick’s chest is there with the intent to slow him down instead of doing what he actually wants to do, and start ripping his clothes off. “Wait. Just…I don’t want...I don’t want to rush this if it’s going to come back to bite me in the ass. I don’t want you to think…that this is all I want. Because it’s not. I mean, if this is all you want from _me_ , that’s fine. You can fucking have it, I’ll give it to you, anything you want. But I’m just letting you know that…if you want more…” He can’t finish it. Can’t say it out loud, not if that’s not something Rick wants.

But Rick just gazes at him, his face open and soft and hopeful above Negan’s. “I do. I do want more. I want all of it, Negan. But it’s been four years. And we’re too old to be playing cat-and-mouse, taking things slow. We both know what we want. I don’t see the point in waiting. We both know life’s too short to do that.”

The sentiment is bittersweet with the implications, but when Negan’s mouth finds Rick’s again, all he can taste is sweetness.

“Yeah. Fuck. Yes. Rick…come inside. I’m not fucking you for the first time in the front seat of my car. Come inside.” It's hardly eloquent, but it does the trick.

Rick does come inside, his hand in Negan’s as they climb the stairs. His mouth is at Negan’s neck as Negan tries to unlock the door, and it takes him longer for it. When they finally get in the apartment, Negan leads him to the bedroom, pulls him into his arms, kisses him again, and feels Rick melt against him, their chests pressed together. Their mouths move wetly against each other’s, and they take their time working open buttons and undoing belts and kicking pants into the far corners of Negan’s bedroom. It’s only when they’re both stripped bare that Negan guides Rick toward the bed, nudges him back onto it. And he can’t help but stare for a moment, because Rick is…well, he’s fucking beautiful. Negan discovers that the pink that so often colors his cheeks also spills below his collar, down his neck and over his chest. His legs are open as he shuffles back on the bed, his cock thick and flushed between them. He looks damn good, and Negan can’t resist diving forward and covering Rick’s body with his own, bare skin on bare skin. He slides between Rick’s legs, their hips moving together, and he kisses down Rick’s body, feeling the heat of the flushed skin under his tongue and hearing the soft, breathy noises Rick makes above him. His kisses down, over Rick's chest and stomach, below his navel, and stops when he reaches Rick’s cock, lips hovering just above the glistening head.

“Do you want this, baby?”

Rick's eyes are heavy lidded and his voice is strained, but he still manages to sass Negan. “What’s it look like?”

Negan grins at that and dips his head, tongue lapping at the slit, tasting the wetness leaking from it, and Rick groans and cants his hips up, wanting more. Negan’s hands grip his waist, pin them to the bed, and then he’s swallowing Rick down, and Rick’s making sounds above him that are so loud that Negan’s pretty sure some of his neighbors can hear, but he doesn’t give a single fuck, because Rick is hot and heavy and leaking in his mouth, and his fingers are tugging at Negan’s hair and all Negan can think is _goddamn, Rick’s having a hell of a time._

“ _N-Negan…_ ” Rick gasps out, and _holy hell that is a great fucking sound_ , Negan thinks. “Negan, you’ve gotta- I’m gonna…” Negan releases him with a wet pop, and wriggles up the bed so that he’s next to Rick.

“Not yet you’re not, baby. No way are you coming before I get inside you. I’m gonna fuck your pretty ass whether you come early or not. Pretty sure you won't mind.”

Negan pulls a bottle out of his side drawer then, and moves so that he’s back in between Rick’s legs. He rubs his hands up the smaller man’s thighs, presses soft kisses to the inside of his knees, locks eyes with Rick as he slicks up his fingers and presses one against Rick’s opening. Rick tenses, eyes wide, and Negan stops for a moment.

“You alright, Rick?”

Rick lets out a shuddering breath. “Yeah. Yes. Keep…keep fucking going.”

Negan does. He teases the rim, letting Rick relax, then slips a finger inside, then another after Rick’s had time to adjust. He leans forward, brushes kisses against Rick’s lower stomach as he fingers him open, feels the way Rick’s body shakes under him. He crooks his fingers, seeking, until Rick lets out a loud moan and his head drops down against the pillows, back arching.

“You like that, baby? That feel good?” Negan croons, working that spot over and over, watching Rick’s face as he does so, liking how his mouth falls open on soft whines, his lips pink and kiss-bitten. He thrusts into that spot again, and all at once, Rick is tensing under him and crying out and clenching around his fingers, coming hard over his stomach while Negan watches him, entranced. He keeps moving his fingers inside Rick until the man is spent underneath him, and then Negan flops down on the bed beside him, his own cock hard as steel against Rick’s hip.

“Jesus, Rick! Thought I said you couldn’t come till my dick was inside you.” He teases, but then he sees the look on Rick’s face, the way he dodges Negan’s eyes like he’s embarrassed, and Negan’s instantly abashed, pulling Rick into his arms and nuzzling into his sweaty hair. “Fuck, baby, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. I don’t mind. Honestly, that was hot as fuck.” He leans in to whisper into Rick’s ear, “You look so goddamn sexy when you come. Seriously, I could watch that shit on repeat. Your fucking face…” He growls, kisses the skin behind Rick’s ear, feels him shudder. Rick turns into him, kisses him long and slow.

“You gonna fuck me, or are you just gonna cuddle and talk dirty?” Rick murmurs against his lips.

Negan stammers, “I, uh. I mean, I was kind of pulling your fucking leg before. If you’ve gotten your fill for the night, I not gonna fuck you, not if you don’t want it-” He’s cut off by Rick grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him back to look him dead in the eye.

“I want it. I fucking want you inside me, Negan. You telling me you can’t make me come twice?”

A surge of lust shoots through Negan at the words, and he’s back on top of Rick in seconds, nipping and licking at the line of his throat, leaving marks and growling into the abused flesh. “Baby, don’t you dare fucking challenge me. You know I’ll win.”

“Prove it.” Rick moans, pushing up into Negan, “ _Impress me_.”

It’s a challenge Negan is determined to live up to. He works Rick’s body slowly, mouth and hands worshiping Rick’s thighs, his chest, his stomach, until his cock is stiff and leaking between them again. Negan slicks his length, presses inside, swears he sees stars. His head drops, forehead pressing to Rick’s chest, and Rick his huffing and groaning under him. And then he’s fucking into Rick in earnest, their hips rolling together, a steady rhythm building up, and Negan reaches for Rick, cups his face with the hand that’s not gripping Rick’s thigh. His thumb traces the plush of Rick’s lips, petting, and Rick sucks it into his mouth, tongue and teeth playing.

“Fuck, Rick. Filthy boy. Fucking beautiful. So fucking beautiful.” He can’t stop the praise falling past his lips once he starts. He’s getting wound up tight, and feels Rick getting close too, if the clenching of his body around Negan and sweet moans he’s making are any indication.

 _“Rick, fuck, you’re gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous, fucking perfect_ -” Rick’s back is arching, his mouth falling open, his fingers biting into Negan’s thighs as he spills between them, and Negan’s _gone_. He bucks desperately into Rick, filling him, breathing hard and repeating his name over and over again interwoven with profanity as he comes.

Rick pulls him up, and they tangle together, a mess of sweat and spunk and labored breaths as they come back to themselves. Rick’s face is pressed into Negan’s shoulder, and Negan’s stroking damp locks of curly hair, and he really, really doesn’t want Rick to leave. So he asks.

“Stay. Stay the night. Please.”

Rick nods into his shoulder. “Already paid Beth for the whole night.”

Negan gives a weak laugh into Rick’s hair. “Presumptuous bastard.”

Rick’s chuckle is barely more than an exhale against Negan’s skin. “Maybe. I had a good feeling, though.”

Negan drags himself to the bathroom some time later, wets a washcloth, cleans them both up. They settle under the covers together, fingers brushing, Rick’s back to Negan’s chest.

“So?” Negan asks, a half-asleep rumble in the dark.

“So what?” Is Rick’s sleepy reply.

“Did I impress you?”

Rick squirms a little closer, squeezes Negan’s fingers between his own. “You always do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left! Thanks for all the sweet comments on this cheeseball fic, I love them all.


	6. +1

When Negan strolls into Judith’s Java, he’s met with a familiar face. Michonne is in line in front of him, waiting on a cappuccino, and she returns his smile when she sees him.

“Negan. Long time no see.”

He gives her shoulder a friendly nudge. “It’s been three weeks. And it’s definitely your fault, too. I’m here so fucking often I may as well set up a cot in the corner.”

She gives him a knowing look, her eyes darting between him and Rick, who’s busy making her coffee. “So,” She says, “How’d it go? Did you impress him?”

He grins. his smile full of warmth and pride. “Watch this, Michonne.” He says, and then directs his attention to the man behind the counter. “Hey, babe!”

Rick’s head jerks up from the cappuccino maker, eyes lighting up when they fall on Negan. He finishes up Michonne’s coffee, hands it to her, and Negan reaches across the counter to cup the back of his neck and draw him in for a quick kiss. When he lets go, Rick’s cheeks are pink, and he looks torn between scolding Negan for kissing him in front of his customers and being pleased. Michonne nods, looking amused. “So you did impress him, then.”

“Oh, I impressed the fuck out of him. First with the poetry, then with some _other_ shit-”

“ _Negan._ ” Rick warns, his face going red. Negan and Michonne share a laugh.

“Well, I’m glad your studying paid off. It was good to see you. Thanks for the coffee, Rick.” She nods to them before taking her leave, and then it’s just Negan and Rick.

Rick smiles up at him, soft around the edges. It's a good look on him, and it's one that Negan knows he's probably mirroring on his own face as he gazes at Rick. “So, the usual?” Rick asks, and Negan shakes his head.

“Hell no, baby. I didn’t drive all the way over here to drink alone. Give me one of my usual, one of whatever you’re having, and one of those blueberry scones. We’re gonna have a coffee date.”

Rick bites his lip, holding back a grin. “I’m workin’, Negan.”

“Perks of being the owner, Rick. You can take your break whenever your boyfriend shows up to buy you coffee.” He sees Rick’s hesitation, and he tries again. “C’mon, baby. Give me twenty minutes. Carl can hold down the fort, right?”

In response to that, Carl shoots Negan a dangerous glare, but his face softens after a moment. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’ve got this, dad. We’re not busy.” His eyes cut back to Negan. “Try not to be too disgusting. It’s a health code violation for me to throw up back here.”

Negan laughs. “No guarantees, kid.” He leans forward across the counter on his elbows, looking up at Rick with a pleading look in his eyes. “Please, baby? I’m buyin’.”

Rick sighs, but it's good-natured and paired with a smile as he moves to untie his apron, hanging it on a hook behind the counter. “Fine. You get twenty minutes.” He swings out from behind the counter, and Negan immediately throws his arms around him from behind while Rick asks Carl for a medium cinnamon latte. He supposes that he should be glad that Rick’s so accommodating, because he figures not a lot of people would be cool with him pressing little kisses to their necks while they tried to order coffee from their son.

Carl pointedly avoids eve contact with them as he hands them their coffee and scone, and Negan pulls Rick into one of the booths, their ankles bumping as they lean over the table together.

“Thanks,” Rick says shyly, nudging Negan’s foot with his own. “For the coffee.”

“No fucking problem, baby," Negan purrs. "It’s been so damn long since I’ve been able to do shit like this for someone, you know? Meet them on my lunch break and convince them to play hooky with me for we can be _gross_ together.” He takes a sip of his coffee, enjoys the way the drink and Rick’s company warm him from the inside out. He feels…good. Really good. For the first time in what feels like a very long time, he feels content. He reaches for the scone, breaks a piece off, and lifts it to Rick’s lips, encouraging him to open his mouth. Rick smiles, a soft smile, and takes the bite, licks the crumbs off of Negan’s fingertips, and Negan barely suppresses a delighted shiver.

“Shit, Rick. You can’t fucking do stuff like that to me in public. Not unless you want our coffee date to turn into a nooner. _Not_ that I’d be opposed to that, but I’m pretty sure fucking in the back room falls heavily into the category of gross, and Carl would probably quit on the spot.”

Rick glares at him, swats playfully at his arm. “Shut up. You’re bein’ sweet. Don’t ruin it.”

Negan leans in closer, one finger tugging at the collar of Rick’s shirt. “Oh, I can be sweet while I’m fucking you, baby. I seem to recall me being real sweet last night when I was sucking your-”

Rick clamps a hand over Negan’s mouth, his face twitching back and forth between looking stern and laughing. “We are in _public_. There are people here that I want to come back, and that’s not gonna happen if you keep running your filthy mouth in my shop.”

Negan licks the palm of Rick’s hand, and Rick continues to look unimpressed. “Why would that bother me, Negan? God knows I’ve had your spit in way worse places than my hand.”

Negan barks out a loud laugh against Rick’s hand, and Carl shoots him a look from behind the counter. Negan pushes Rick’s hand away, trapping it between his own and kissing the knuckles. “Thought you didn’t wanna talk dirty in here, baby?”

Rick’s mouth curves up in a wry smile. “Perks of being the owner, Negan.”

It’s then that the front door swings open and in walks a familiar looking couple. Maggie and Glenn catch Rick and Negan’s eyes immediately, and Rick waves them over. It’s only been a few weeks, but Negan swears that Maggie looks further along than she did when they first met. She has a glow around her, and Glenn looks at her like she’s made of every good thing that he can think of, and they radiate that same light they did before. This time, Negan doesn’t feel blinded by it. Maybe looking at Rick has gotten him used to seeing such bright, beautiful things.

“Hey, boys,” Maggie says as they approach the table. She and Glenn look them over taking in the scene before them: Negan and Rick, elbow to elbow, knee to knee, half a scone between them, Negan’s hands still holding onto Rick’s. Maggie quirks an eyebrow at them. “So it looks like you really _did_ have it covered, Rick.”

Negan sees the opportunity and seizes it. “Oh, he’s had me covered in _all kinds_ of ways, you really wouldn’t fucking believe-” Rick kicks him squarely in the shin under the table, but Negan’s pretty sure it was worth it. Maggie and Glenn laugh and Glenn claps Negan on the shoulder.

“Can’t say I was expecting to see this when we came in today, but…good for you, Rick. And you too, Negan, for getting Rick back in the game. It’s only been, what, ten years…?” Negan snickers under his breath. He likes this, likes how well this couple knows Rick, how much they care about him. Rick spends so much time taking care of other people- his kids, his customers, _Negan_ \- it’s nice to see that he has people to take care of him, too. It’s something that Negan’s been working at, making sure that Rick’s okay. He so strong, so steady, it’s easy to forget sometimes that he’s been through the same hell as Negan.

“Four. It’s been four years.” Rick scoffs, taking a long swig of his latte. “And I had a good reason.”

Glenn nods solemnly. “I know, dude. Trust me, I know. But it’s…it’s good to see you getting out there again. Can’t say I expected it to be the guy glaring at us and crying over his coffee in the middle of the afternoon…” He teases, and Negan flips him off, “But It makes sense, I think. The two of you.”

“All you know about me is that my wife died and I’m secure enough in my fucking masculinity to cry in public.” Negan mutters, and Glenn shoves his shoulder.

“Just shut up and take the compliment, dumbass,” Glenn chides, “I’m trying to give you my blessing.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Negan relents. “Thanks. Thanks to both of you, actually.”

Maggie tilts her head at him, looking confused. “Why?”

“If it wasn’t for you two being here a few weeks ago, looking all cute and happy and making me wanna gag, I wouldn’t have gotten to know this guy,” He says, squeezing Rick's hands between his own. “And I’d be one sad motherfucker without him, believe me. So thanks.”

“Thanks for being cute and making you want to gag.” Glenn muses, chuckling. “No problem, man. Glad we could make you cry.”

Negan watches them as they make their way to the counter to order, and then turns back to Rick and is met with a sly smile.

“The fuck’s that look for?” Negan asks. 

Rick shrugs him off. “Nothin’. It’s just nice. Seeing you talk about me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Sayin’ you be one sad motherfucker without me. I don’t know. Makes me feel like I’m helpin’ you or something.” Rick pauses, frowns. “Not that…not that that’s why I’m with you. I just…when I first saw you, you looked so lonely. Like you needed someone. I’m just glad I could be that person for you.”

A rush of affection for the man in front of him overwhelms Negan, and suddenly he’s leaning across the table and cupping Rick’s face and pressing their lips together, slow and sweet. He wants to say all the things going through his mind right now- that Rick’s so much more than the person who dragged him out of his post-Lucille fog, the one who finally quelled that ache of loneliness in his chest. He wants to tell him that he’s amazing, that he’s more than Negan ever thought to expect, more than he feels like he deserves. He wants to thank him for not kicking him out that afternoon, for being willing to hear out the crying, swearing stranger in his coffee shop for being willing to date said crying, swearing stranger.

He wants to say something else, too, something he hasn’t said to another person since Lucille. Wants to say it even though they’re barely scraping three weeks together, and even though it scares him a little that he can feel the words on his tongue, so rich and thick and weighty that he’s almost surprised that Rick can’t taste them as they kiss.

But he doesn’t want to do it here, with people around, when Rick’s in a rush and needs to get back to work. So he just kisses him, and when he pulls back, he whispers against Rick’s lips, “I’ll meet you here tonight, alright? I’ll help you close the place down.”

* * *

It’s not the first time Negan’s dropped by Judith’s Java after hours to help Rick close up shop. He likes it, just the two of them in the place where they first met, quiet and comfortable in the dim light. Rick cleans the machines, Negan sweeps, they stack chairs on tables and wipe up coffee spills. Sometimes they curl up in one of the armchairs together and read, Rick laying back against Negan’s chest. Sometimes, they do other things in the armchairs. Rick says it makes him feel guilty about letting his customers sit in them after. It doesn’t stop him from doing it, though. They’re always careful not to make a mess as they move together, warm bodies rising and falling as they pant into each other's mouths, swallowing down moans.

Tonight, they clean in easy silence. Rick’s stacking the last of the paper coffee cups when Negan sweeps up behind him, pulls him close, his mouth at Rick’s ear.

“I have another poem for you,” He breathes, “I don’t know the whole thing, just parts, but they’re the parts I want you to hear.”

"Go for it," Rick whispers, and Negan does, a little nervously because he knows what he's saying as he recites:

_And when I thought how my dear friend, my lover, was on his way coming, then I was happy_

_O then each breath tasted sweeter, and all that day my food nourish’d me more,_

_And the beautiful day pass’d well_

He skips the next few lines, down to the end:

_For the one I love most lay sleeping by me under the same cover in the cool night,_

_In the stillness in the autumn moonbeams his face was inclined toward me,_

_And his arm lay lightly around my breast, and that night I was happy._

Rick turns in his arms, his face ardent as he looks at Negan. “I love that one,” He murmurs, arms locking around Negan’s neck.

“I do too,” Negan says, and his voice shakes a little with what comes next, but he’s already said it in the poem, and Rick’s words from the night of their first date come back to him- life’s too short to wait. “I love you.”

Rick’s eyes are soft and deep, and Negan doesn’t have to fear for even a second that he’s made a mistake by saying it out loud, because Rick’s face says it all, right from the moment the words leave Negan’s lips.

“I love you, too.” Rick breathes, and then Negan’s kissing him, and Rick is warm strong in his arms, and a handful of thoughts race across Negan’s mind.

_He loves me, he’s perfect, I’m so fucking glad I decided not to go to Starbucks._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're done! I've really enjoyed seeing the reactions to this fic, it's always so cool to see that people like softer interpretations and AUs for this (admittedly rather deliciously dark) pairing. Thank you so much for reading/kudos-ing/commenting, it means the world!
> 
> The poetry in this chapter is from Whitman's "When I Heard at the Close of the Day"


End file.
